


it's not too late

by speckledfeathers



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memories, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Nightmares, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovered Memories, Resurrection, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Soulmates, Sad moments, Scars, Stanley Uris Lives, The Losers Club Deserve Happiness (IT), he's afraid eddie will up and disappear if he even blinks too many times, richie follows eddie around like a puppy, soft moments, they both got resurrected actually, we got it all here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledfeathers/pseuds/speckledfeathers
Summary: inspired by the idea from my dear friend jay: what if stan and eddie were resurrected when pennywise was killed? the two of them wake up underneath the neibolt house after it collapses and they must find their way out together. once they do, they find their friends mourning them in the lake. it's a big happy reunion.but now eddie and stan are confronted with their deaths and everything that comes with being brought back to life.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & The Losers Club, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	it's not too late

It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world, really. After everything they had been through, why would any of them want to be away from each other right now? 

The seven of them spent so long in the water that their skin practically melded to their bloodied clothes. They clung to each other— laughing, crying, smiling, grasping, shivering. There were kisses to the cheek, hugs that knocked each other underneath the surface of the water, muffled gasps. 

They were all alive. Eddie and Stan had been a bit slow getting there, but to everyone’s extreme surprise they showed up. Better late than never, right? That was certainly the easy way of looking at it. Once they had the time, all of them would have to come to terms with it— but that could wait.

Richie kept Eddie close on their way back to town. Stan became sandwiched between Bill and Bev. The two dead men stole glances at each other as they were dragged along by their friends, still unsure about their apparent second breath of life. It was a language of hesitant but emotional smiles that they both intrinsically seemed to understand. 

The rest of the day passed in a complete blur. Eddie rarely felt numb but the sheer amount of overwhelming emotions pretty much fried his nerves. When he started to really drift off, it was still light out. But it was the time of day that he loved— grey and purple twilight, hazy clouds in the sky that always hid stars behind them. He wanted to stay awake, just a little bit longer. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t slowly drifting off into sleep he wouldn’t wake up from. He wanted to make sure Richie was still with him, that Stan was okay, and that his friends were safe. He wanted to..

_“Eds?”_

His eyes flickered open. Richie’s whisper was clear and striking, even though the other man managed to keep his voice low. The rest of the room was empty, but the door was open and if he focused he could hear the rest of them talking in another room. It made him smile.

“Hey, Eddie.” Richie’s voice was fuller this time, but still quiet. It was warm and it was sad and it was happy, and Eddie felt it all in the pit of his stomach. “You drifted off. Do you want to sleep?”

Eddie blinked a few more times, leaning his head against the backboard and feeling the space next to him dip as Richie sat down. “Why would you wake me up and then ask me if I wanted to sleep?” He was joking, of course. But he couldn’t be sure if his tone would make that obvious enough.

“I’m not that stupid.” Richie retorted back. _Good,_ the sarcasm was apparent. “You’re still wearing all these dirty clothes and you smell like a diaper. I was trying to be nice and give you time to clean up before you get that shit all over my bed.”

 _“Your_ bed..?” Eddie yawned, rubbing his heavy eyes before finally looking at his friend.

“Yeah, dummy.” Richie’s glance shifted around the room before landing back on Eddie. “This is my room. Yours is next door.”

“Mmm.” His response wasn’t much of anything, just a noise. But as his senses cleared up, he realized just how much of a disgusting mess he still was. His face immediately twisted in distaste.

Richie snorted. “Yeah. I’m surprised it took you this long to realize how gross you are, man.”

Someone (Richie) had obviously given him a new hooded shirt to wear. The one he was wearing now was light grey and— oh yeah, _**didn’t have a giant bloody hole through the center of it.**_ It was zipped all the way up, hiding the shirt underneath— but Eddie could see it peeking up over the zipper. It was grimy, smudged with all kinds of dirt and shit and blood.

His _**own**_ blood.

Eddie abruptly stood up on his shaking legs, like he had been shocked to his feet. Richie moved with him, standing close by with arms ready to catch him should he take a tumble towards the floor. He watched Eddie like a hawk from behind cracked glasses.

“Whoa, hey— you alright? You might wanna take it slow, Eds—“

“I’m fine.” A lie. Eddie felt sick. Two fingers clasped the zipper and he was about to pull down, but then he felt dizzy. 

Before he could think, he felt himself hit Richie’s arms. Big, warm hands firmly grabbed his waist and moved him back to the bed. Richie sat back down next to him.

Eddie’s hands would have been useful against the bed right now, as a way to hold him up. Instead? They were clenched too tightly underneath his chin, pressed together and holding fistfuls of grey fabric under white knuckles. They pulled the outer layer up high enough to completely cover the shirt underneath— a desperate attempt to hide the grime and the blood and the death that was waiting for him.

 _“Oh god, Rich.”_ He had never felt so small. He was a broken boy who had been mysteriously glued back together again, but something felt _wrong._ He could barely speak and he could feel his throat tighten, but he forced the words out. “I was dead. _**I was dead!** It got me!”_

Immediately after, Eddie crumpled in on himself and erupted into sobs. His hands let go of the hoodie and moved to cover his face as he struggled to breathe. 

Richie said nothing— not because he didn’t want to, but because he was broken too. Their reunion in the quarry was overwhelming and happy, dominated by moments of euphoria. But this was reality. This was the truth. Both of them would have been content to ignore the mess of it for the rest of their lives, but they knew that would never happen.

If Eddie had been able to see the man next to him, he would have seen the pain in his eyes. He would have seen Richie take one shaking hand and remove his glasses to set them on the small table next to the bed. And he would have seen how hard he was trying to keep his own sobs at bay, wrapping his strong arms around the man he loved and pulling him close.

Eddie wanted to disappear. He curled so tightly into himself that it almost hurt, and he let Richie move them closer together. He ended up falling farther over into Richie’s lap, and they stayed there together while they cried. Eddie’s tears were loud and full of terror, like everything he felt in his last moments was spilling out of him from every crack. Richie’s tears were silent and full of grief. They ran down his cheeks and soaked into the fabric of the hoodie on Eddie’s shoulder, where Richie had laid his head. His eyes were clamped shut. All he wanted was stop Eddie from hurting, but there was nothing else he could do.

At one point, Bev and Mike tiptoed their way over and stole a peek inside the room. They had heard the cries, but waited until things seemed to have calmed down. What they saw? Richie and Eddie in one big messy pile on the edge of the bed. Richie’s eyes were closed, but he was sitting straighter and running a few fingers mindlessly through Eddie’s hair. The smaller man was fast asleep.

The two spies looked to each other, swapping sad smiles, and then they left.

Next, the two tired out losers in the bed both woke with a jump. Eddie flailed an arm up and his hand smacked into Richie’s face. They both exclaimed, something too jumbled to be words, and then they were suddenly sitting up. Side by side. Eyes full of sleep, hair tousled, and expressions twisted in confusion.

 _“Whaa was tha..”_ Eddie slurred his words and then yawned.

“You. That was you.” The response he received from Richie was groggy and annoyed.

“Yeah I know I smacked you. I mean.. what woke us up?”

There was a beat of silence. They stayed in place, staring straight ahead while their shoulders touched. Then Richie replied.

“You snored.”

“I— what?” Eddie whipped his gaze over to the man next to him.

“You snored. It was loud. It woke me up. I jumped. You woke up. You slapped me. Now we’re having this delightful conversation.”

They were both half asleep, but with his mouth hanging open in disbelief and his brows furrowed together he still managed to make the most offended look Richie had ever seen. “I do not snore.”

“Dude.” Richie scoffed, one corner of his mouth perking up into a smirk. “You totally do.”

 _“I do not!”_ A violent finger was now aimed at Richie’s face.

Richie looked down at him, eyes briefly flicking to the very angry finger, and then he let his baby smirk flourish into a full one. “Sometimes you did as a kid, too. This isn’t new information. Get with the times, Spaghetti!”

Eddie’s face was now heated to a bright pink of embarrassment. Richie wiggled his eyebrows, ready for the slew of words about to be thrown at him, but they were interrupted before Eddie had a chance to say a single thing.

“You guys got room for a few more?” It was Stan. He was peeking in from the side and as he spoke, he gave the doorframe three light knocks.

As he spoke, Ben showed up next to him. There was a chair in his arms, most likely the one from his room, and he was using it as a basket to carry a few pillows and blankets. “Even if you don’t, we’ll make room.”

The two of them both suddenly found themselves void of any responses. That’s why the rest of their friends started making themselves at home without waiting, offering them gentle smiles and a few good hearted eye rolls. 

Stan took a seat on the other side of Eddie and handed him a small bag. “Here. I hope you don’t mind, but I grabbed your toiletries bag from your room.”

Eddie took it, limbs moving slowly. His embarrassment and slight annoyance at Richie had faded, and as their friends got set up for whatever they were doing, he felt heavy. Heavier than he had felt the entire rest of the day, like if he didn’t fight against gravity it would result in him sinking into the floor. He could disappear, becoming one with the ground. He could rest.

But he could feel Richie’s eyes on him and he felt Stan place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met, and he could tell the other man was just as tired as he was. He was just hiding it better at the moment.

“A shower won’t fix everything. But it will help.” It was then that Eddie noticed the dampness of Stan’s curls. “I promise.”

Eddie clutched the little bag to his chest. He trusted Stan. They shared something that the other five would never understand. 

Then he nodded, and after learning his lesson before he made sure to stand up with purpose. He felt his feet against the floor and took a moment to make sure he was steady before taking steps out of the room. 

Richie scrambled behind him, and as he reached the door to the bathroom the other man was calling out his name and jogging to catch up with him.

Eddie, now in the bathroom, turned back around.

“Sorry, I just—” He handed Eddie a messily folded pile of clothes. “I got these for you earlier in case you wanted clean stuff to put on.”

Eddie grabbed them. Then Richie tossed a towel over his shoulder.

“And there’s a clean towel for you. Uhm—” He sounded almost out of breath, and now that his hands were free he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Richie was being.. awkward. “Are you going to be okay?”

Quite frankly, Eddie didn’t feel real. He hadn’t said a word to Stan. He hadn’t even said a word to Richie before making his way here, but it was clear that the other man was spiraling a bit. So he took a step forward, lifted his chin to get a good look at his taller friend, and mustered up a smile. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He shifted all of his belongings into one hand so he could give his friend’s arm a comforting and thankful squeeze. “Thank you, Rich.”

Richie looked worried, and Eddie didn’t necessarily blame him. He had almost passed out earlier just from looking at his dirty t-shirt. But he did his best to make sure Richie was alright.

“Be careful running through the hallways. Without your glasses, I’m afraid you’ll trip.” Eddie slowly began backing them both towards the door. He was afraid Richie wasn’t going to leave him alone, which was endearing in a way, but Eddie needed some time to himself right now.

Richie let out an awkward chuckle, and once he was back into the hallway he let out a sigh. “Right, okay. I’ll just be—” He motioned off to the side, which Eddie didn’t know how to interpret. They exchanged awkward, tight lipped smiles before Eddie shut the door and he was finally alone.

This time, it was like ripping off a bandaid. Eddie wiped down the lid of the toilet and then set his clothes and bag down on top of it. Then he came face to face with himself in the mirror over the sink. Before he could spiral too much, he pulled the zipper on his hoodie and ripped it off.

Then came his shirt. There was no sense in staring at it and the tattered, blood soaked tear through the center of it. He tossed it in the trash.

Wow. _He looked like shit._

He was now confronted with the new, but certainly not improved, Eddie Kaspbrak. At first he was drawn to the scar on his face, turning his head to get a better look at it and run a few fingers across it. It was smooth but felt foreign, and since the memory of it was so fresh it almost ached. Then he _laughed—_

Getting stabbed in the face had been sudden, terrifying, and almost ridiculous to the point that Eddie had blocked it from his mind after it happened. He remembered stumbling into the hallway after having just stabbed Bowers with the knife he pulled out of his face, blood streaming down his body, and now he was _laughing_ about it.

That strange feeling bubbling up from his chest stopped when the bigger scar fell underneath his hand. The point of it lay slightly off-center on his chest, jagged and sharp and ending a few inches lower than his collarbone. As he traced it down, he added fingers as it widened. The skin was tough and was colored an odd shade of pink that made him feel unsettled. Part of it shot out, extending over his heart like a bursting star. A few other points branched away from the center mass as well. It made him wonder just how much damage had been done, and how it could come back to haunt him in the future.

The sensation of the light brush of his fingertips grew stronger the closer he moved to the center, like static electricity. His breathing became more rapid, chest moving up and down with each shallow breath as he stared at it. He felt branded. Forever touched by death and pain and failure. He was alive but he wasn’t the same, and it felt like he wasn’t put back together quite right. Like he was a stranger in his own patched up skin.

Eddie’s hand moved quickly down the rest of the scar and then fell away. He could tell he was close to a full blown panic attack, which meant it was time to take some control.

The process went a bit too fast but he didn’t want to have a single second of empty space. His anxious mind would cling to it if it had the chance, and he couldn’t let that happen. From his pouch, Eddie lined up everything he needed for his shower. He hung up his towel. He made sure he had all the clean clothes he needed. And then he quickly stripped off the rest of his dirty ones, tossing them in the trash right along with his shirt.

The water was hot. If it burned him, Eddie didn’t notice nor care. There was a cycle he went through— scrub, rinse, repeat. By the fourth cycle he was starting to finally feel clean, even if that meant that his skin was red and raw.

During the first cycle there was a moment of sheer despair when Eddie found the scar on his back, parallel to the one across his chest. His instincts kicked in and he curled up into the corner of the tub, letting the water rush over the top of his head as he buried his face in his knees. It was all too much to handle, and he stayed there until the water began to cool. The eventual change in temperature is what prompted him to stand back up and finish as quickly as possible.

When he finally turned the water off and stepped out, he was somehow both freezing and overheated at the same time. Clumsy limbs wrapped the too small towel around his shoulders, and before he dried himself off he huddled underneath it in the middle of the room. Getting dressed was a necessity, but everything he did was a struggle right now. It took willpower that he wasn’t sure even existed in him anymore.

Once the clothes were on he made the discovery that everything was too big.

And.. he didn’t recognize any of it.

_**These were Richie’s clothes.** _

Eddie stared at himself in the mirror and how the sweater laid over his shoulders— loose, a bit lopsided, revealing the top of his scar. He looked down and quickly rolled up the ends of the sweatpants, because he was afraid he would trip and die for a second time that day. And he tried so very hard to be annoyed that his friend decided to give him clothes that weren’t even his..

But Eddie didn’t have it in him. He hated that he found it sweet. He hated that he loved the way the sweater sleeves were long enough to cover his hands, and he could bunch the fabric together in his fingers. There was a kindness hidden underneath it all that Eddie had no idea what to do with. People being gentle with him.. it wasn’t something he was used to. And it wasn’t something he felt he deserved. People were usually stern and demanding and stifling. But this was different. This was soft and sweet and it gave him space to breathe.

So Eddie wiped away the few tears that escaped his eyes and tried to adjust the sweater to hide his scar. He failed. But the effort was there.

In what could be considered record time, it took him about a second before getting scared half to death. When the door swung open and Eddie stepped out, Richie popped up (seemingly from nowhere) and it sent him slamming back against the doorframe. 

_**“Fucking christ!”**_ He dropped his bag and his towel in the process.

“Eds!” Richie only sounded slightly concerned— mostly, he was laughing. He finished pushing himself up off the floor and then grabbed everything that Eddie had dropped. “Calm down, it’s just me.”

“Were you—” Eddie cleared his throat, hand over his chest, and stepped into the hallway. “—were you sitting out here the entire time?”

He watched as the other man’s cheeks flushed, which he took as an undeniable _‘yes’._ But instead of confirming or denying it, Richie simply scoffed. “I’ll go put this stuff in your room.” Then he left.

“Make sure to hang up the towel!” Eddie called after him. He then realized that Richie would most likely just pile it all on the bed anyway, so he decided to go after him.

Eddie managed to take two steps and then suddenly, there was a Stanley. He hadn’t been paying enough attention and it caused them to almost smack into each other.

The other man stopped just before they would have collided. Both of them were shocked, frozen in place for a long few seconds before taking a small step back from each other.

Stan mustered up a hint of a smile. “Feel any better?”

Eddie took in a shallow breath and then shrugged. “A little. Last time I was in one of the bathrooms here I got shanked in the face.” He cringed at his own words— _maybe it was best to leave the horrible jokes to Richie._

Stan’s eyes immediately widened in horror.

“—they didn’t tell you about that?”

“—nope.”

“Right.” Eddie was uncomfortable now.

And clearly Stan was too. “Is that what the..?” He pointed to the scar on Eddie’s face.

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

“Right.” Stan sounded tired. Eddie did too. They were both far too tired to be awake right now, having this awkward conversation. But it was happening anyway.

“Something’s on your mind.” It was both a statement and a question. One that Stan didn’t have to say, one that Eddie wished he hadn’t, and yet..

 _“I barely recognize myself, Stan.”_ Eddie needed to say it out loud. His voice was low and hushed, like he was trying to tell a secret. 

“We’ve all got scars, Eddie.” Stan sounded.. broken. As he filled his lungs with another breath, Eddie could hear it shake. His gaze moved past him and into the room behind them where their friends were gathered and chatting. It stayed there, eyes glossing over with tears he refused to let fall. When he finally looked away, he chose to focus on the floor space between the two of them and began anxiously pulling at the sleeves of his shirt down by his wrists. “You and I are just the poor bastards that have to live with them on the outside.”

His own scars were terrifying. But his heart broke for Stan, just like it had dozens of times over the past few days. 

“We missed you.” Eddie’s voice cracked. He had gotten a glimpse of his friend’s scars after they escaped the ruins. His own death felt almost insignificant when he thought of it now. 

If only their resurrections had been brought about by turning back the clock instead. 

He felt a bit guilty when Stan lost his composure and began to cry, covering his eyes with one of his hands. Eddie knew that people like small gestures of comfort— a touch to the shoulder, holding their hand, a hug— he had just never been very good at it or comfortable with it.

But this was Stan, and right now he needed him. So Eddie gently enveloped him in a hug and let him quietly cry into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“No, _no no Stan—”_ His voice was firm but he spoke softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We love you.”

He hugged Eddie a bit tighter, his words muffled against the fabric of Eddie’s sweater. “I love you guys too.” 

As their hug ended, Stan was sniffling and they stayed close— it was then that he noticed the mosaic of scars along the outline of Stan’s face.

He lifted a hand and hooked it gently underneath the other man’s chin, his thumb coming to rest along a section of the scars he had focused on. Eddie felt Stan go stiff, eyes glancing to the hand now resting against his skin. But he didn’t pull away.

“Shit. I had almost forgotten..” The memory of him running to Stan’s side after the monster had lurched away, leaning down as his friend screamed in terror and blood began dripping down the length of his neck— it had suddenly come back to him. Eddie had felt so guilty that he hadn’t been there to keep his friend safe. Stan had been terrified, and rightly so. Eddie had been too. He remembered trying not to get the other boy’s blood on his cast but still trying to console him and make sure he was okay. Little did either of them know that the worst of it hadn’t reached them yet. Not in the slightest.

There were still tears lingering in the corners of Stanley’s eyes as Eddie watched him go pale. “I _had_ forgotten.” He took in another shaking breath. “I was okay with not knowing where those had come from. I always had this.. lingering feeling that it was something I didn’t want to remember. Guess I was right.”

Eddie’s face had softened and when their eyes met, it was a mix of everything from fear to guilt to genuine sorrow. He didn’t say it, but he was sorry that Stan had to go through all of this. The six of them had their fair share of sharp triggered memories, but something about this specific one made Eddie _protective._ He wasn’t so strong himself right now, but the two of them were in this together— not by choice, but they were best friends. He would want to be here for Stan, right now in this moment, whether he had been resurrected along with him or not.

He kept his hand there, thumb softly moving along the constellation of 27 year old marks along his friend’s skin, and felt Stan lean into the touch. His friend's eyes closed and brows knitted together just slightly, and Eddie thought maybe Stan was just as unaccustomed as he was to this type of kindness when it came to their traumas and fears.

“Your face scars are way prettier than mine.” Eddie teased, hoping the levity of his words wasn’t too much.

Thankfully it wasn't, and as Stan let out a small huff of air and smiled he also lifted a hand and pressed it against Eddie’s. “Yours is way more badass, though.” He opened his eyes, and the two of them shared a moment of silent understanding that they both desperately needed.

A few moments later, their skulls almost collided. Richie flung himself between them and threw his arms across their shoulders.

Eddie murmured a few expletives. Stan rolled his eyes.

“You two need to stop being such _bummers.”_ A typical Richie comment. “I mean what are we? A group of almost middle aged, depressed, traumatized people? Shit guys, lighten the fuck up already!”

Nobody was laughing, but it seemed to lighten the mood a bit. Richie dragged the two of them back into the room, which culminated in a giant group hug with Stan and Eddie in the middle.

With his face squashed underneath Richie’s chin, next to Stan and Bev’s, Eddie felt loved for the first time in as long as he could remember. But he didn’t let it show, of course. His brows were furrowed in annoyance and he complained about being suffocated, causing the rest of them to laugh. Mike ruffled Eddie’s damp hair and their whispers died down. The seven of them allowed themselves to just exist in the moment, just like they had in the water. But there was a silent understanding between them that now, they were all safe. They had each other. They made it. And it wasn’t too late.

Eddie argued with Richie for approximately 2 minutes and 47 seconds about who should get the bed. Richie wanted the two of them to have it. Eddie thought Stan deserved a spot. And while neither of them relented, Stan had already taken a seat on the biggest chair with the softest cushions. Bill was next to him, and the two tried not to make their amusement too obvious as Richie practically slammed Eddie into a sitting position on the bed (while yelling that he didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and get annoyed to death by Eddie’s complaints about having a sore back from sleeping in a chair).

That shut him up. Eddie silently nudged himself farther onto the bed so he was against the back of it, much like he had been earlier, and then sulked in his defeat. Richie took his place next to him, and the rest was history.

They all talked for a while. They discussed getting drinks from downstairs but decided against it. It all almost felt normal, even if it was anything but.

As teenagers they stuffed themselves into all sorts of different sized rooms during sleepovers. Eddie could remember a multitude of different sleeping bag configurations that they smashed together like poorly planned puzzles. They made sure everyone had pillows and stayed up until all hours of the early morning doing stupid shit and laughing at jokes that weren’t actually funny. He wondered if the rest of them could remember those moments, too. Their memories were a fickle thing, and part of him longed to stay in Derry until they could all remember every single moment they spent together.

 _“Wait—”_ Richie abruptly grabbed Eddie’s left hand and flipped it over, catching the attention of everyone else in the room.

His first instinct was to yank his hand out of Richie’s grip but he resisted the urge, going stiff. As kids, the two of them had practically no boundaries— so he felt silly for tensing up at the other man’s touch. His heart was racing.

Richie traced a thumb along the scar on his palm.

 _“What?”_ Eddie was getting impatient now.

“You still have yours.” That was.. something. But Eddie still had no clue what he was trying to get at.

“Course I do, dumbass. We all have th—” The words caught in Eddie’s throat as Richie held up his own left hand. It was clean, not a trace of the scar left behind. And now it was his turn to grab his friend’s hand, clamoring over to him in an attempt to inspect it up close.

 _“What the hell?”_ That was **freaky.**

“I still have mine.”

Eddie turned around, dropping Richie’s hand to see Stan with his hand up. There was a scar there, just like Eddie had.

“Well that’s just fuckin’ dandy. You all get your scars erased while Stan and I are covered in ‘em.” Unconsciously, Eddie tugged at the collar of his shirt as he sat back down on the bed next to Richie.

The room had a strange vibe to it after that. They said nothing to Eddie or Stan, and the two of them retreated into themselves. While it wasn’t an ideal mood to end the night with, it allowed for them all to feel just how tired they were. 

At one point Bill gently grabbed Stan’s hand, without a word, and intertwined their fingers. Stan said nothing, and didn’t pull away. That’s how the two of them fell asleep.

Ben and Bev moved to the floor later and huddled together under one blanket, leaning back against the wall and whispering to each other until they drifted off. 

Mike was the one to turn off the light. On the way over to the switch, he gave Richie and Eddie a smile. Richie smiled back as a thank you. And soon after, the room was quiet and dark with only soft light from the moon streaming in through the window.

Richie’s eyes were continuously glued to Eddie, starting when the room began to quiet down. Eddie found it hard to look at him, even though he wanted to during certain moments. The anxiety pooled in his stomach.

But there was a sense of trust that overcame him as he sat there in the dark. The two of them had been sitting up while everyone was awake, but Eddie slowly slouched down onto his pillow. Richie stayed upright, taking out his phone every once in a while to scan through an app for a few minutes before sliding it back into his pocket. Either he wasn’t tired, which Eddie didn’t believe, or he was trying to keep himself awake for some reason.

As subtly as he could, Eddie inched his way closer to him. There wasn’t much space between them to begin with, but it felt like a cavern. Empty, cold, begging to be filled. Richie must have noticed because he moved closer as well. 

It would have been easy to move his head right into his lap, but Eddie chickened out and instead curled all his limbs close to his body.

Richie covered him with a blanket, and then it was lights out.

***

_‘You’re braver than you think.’_

_Was he.. brave? Eddie had never been called that before._

_There was a monster killer clenched tightly in his hands, and he had never felt so afraid in his entire life._

_Something told him to stand back. There was a gut instinct that was trying its hardest to warn him that being brave for the first time in his life would be his downfall. It made him pause, glancing down at the metal rod he was holding. His grip had loosened a bit— and he was considering dropping it._

_It was the little whispers in the back of his mind that held him back. They told him he couldn’t do it, that he would fail. He was weak, he was small, he was doomed. And it was easy to believe what he was hearing._

_Eddie knew that if he did this, he wouldn’t come back from it. Something about all of it felt so familiar. Every step, every movement, every glance he took felt repeated._

_Time sped up and he let the motions carry him through, almost like he wasn’t in control anymore. The monster was screaming in pain off in the distance and now Eddie was leaning down.._

_Richie’s face, full of surprise, came into focus. **He was okay.** And Eddie let out a sigh._

_That’s what all of this had been for._

_Eddie, with all of his adrenaline paired with the relief that Richie was alive, cupped both sides of the other man’s face. “Hey, you’re alright!”_

_Hm. That was different than last time.._

_Richie smiled up at him as his confusion melted away. “Thanks, Eds.” He placed one of his hands over Eddie’s. “But you shouldn’t have done that.”_

_“I know.” Eddie was waiting for it. He would never be ready, and he was terrified, but if it meant he got to live this moment he knew it was worth it. “You’re gonna be okay, right Rich?”_

_Richie’s smile disappeared. “You gotta promise me you’ll wake up.”_

_The knot in Eddie’s stomach got tighter. “What the hell does that mean?”_

_A split second later, Pennywise killed him._

***

Eddie woke up screaming. He shot up in the bed, the blanket was sent flying off of him, and he was clutching his chest. It was a scream of pain, followed by horrible sobs of terror. It felt like his whole body was on fire and he couldn’t breathe.

Someone managed to turn the light on. The rest of them were scared shitless and awake, chests heaving up and down as they widely circled the bed.

 _ **“Eddie!”**_ Richie immediately jumped to the rescue and firmly placed his hands on both sides of Eddie’s face, trying to get him to focus. 

It wasn’t working at first. Eddie felt the hands on his face but his eyes were clamped shut as he continued to cry, muttering broken and repeated phrases.

 _“It hurts, please. Please make it stop. I’m scared—”_ He managed to take in a staggered breath. _“Make it stop, Richie—”_

 _“Eddie!”_ Richie was crying now, but there was a determination to his features that the others had never seen from him before. “Listen to me. Focus on my voice, okay? I’ve got you. It was just a stupid dream. You’re okay, Eds. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

His movements were irrational. There was a draw to let himself be held by Richie but the panic had leached into his system, corrupting his limbs. He began frantically pushing Richie away, but the other man kept himself grounded and didn’t budge. He felt so tired as the sobs wracked his entire frame, but he couldn’t get any of it to stop.

“C’mon, Eds.” The words were desperate. _“You’re okay.”_

The world was too big but Eddie felt like he was suffocating. 

Richie was there, but he felt far away.

Eddie wanted to reach for him but he couldn’t remember how to work his hands.

It still felt as if his chest had been cracked in half. He couldn’t breathe. But he had to get back—

_“Eddie.”_

**“Richie..?”**

His mind wanted him to stay stuck in the past. The record scratched and Eddie was back in the underground cavern, sitting above Richie before—

_“Yeah, yeah that’s it. Breathe, Eddie.”_

He tried. He tried to breathe. He tried to pull his mind away from the memories and it all became a fuzzy, muffled jumble. 

_**“Come back to me, Eds.”** _

Focus. He just had to focus. 

His body started to calm down— no more flailing limbs and horribly tense muscles. That’s when Richie wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re okay.” 

The jumbled mess in Eddie’s head began to quiet down, His sobs mellowed to silent tears and shaking breaths. Something about Richie holding him tight made him believe he was safe, and he followed the motion by reaching up and wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face in his shoulder. _“I’m sorry—”_ He managed to get a few words out, but they were weak. 

Richie simply hugged him tighter. “It’s okay.” 

As Eddie became more grounded in the present, he could feel the other man shaking. It made him want to apologize again, knowing that his outburst must have scared everyone in the room. Instead, he just let Richie hold him and tried to pretend that nothing else existed outside the two of them. 

Maybe this was his new normal— demons haunting him in his sleep, covered in scars that served as nothing more than a reminder that the person he used to be was gone. But that new normal also meant he was with his friends again, that he could find safety in the arms of someone he never should have let go of in the first place. Eddie was a gigantic mess, but he felt lucky that the rest of them were here. He felt a bittersweet gratitude that _**he**_ was even here at all. It was all very strange, and he was sure it would take years to sort through, but right now all he was concerned with was calming down and clinging as close to Richie as he possibly could. 

“Thanks guys, he’s okay.. _he’s okay.”_ He heard Richie whisper to the rest of the anxious room a few minutes later. Eddie didn’t move, but from what he could tell it sounded like everyone settled back down exactly where they had been before. A bold move on their part— considering it was possible for him to have another nightmare later. But the fact that they all stayed made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He had forgotten what it was like to have friends. _**Real**_ friends. 

Richie had repeated it over and over again so much— _he’s okay, you’re okay—_ that Eddie himself even started to believe it. For a while there it felt like he wasn’t okay and wouldn’t ever be okay again. 

Eddie was out of it after the commotion and the panic had run its course. When he glanced around the room at one point later in the night, it was dark and quiet just as it had been before. He could feel how heavy his eyes were, he could feel every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and he could feel Richie’s hand clasped in his own. 

_So much for not sleeping in a chair._ They had both dozed off while sitting up against the bed frame, holding hands, heads leaning against each other. Eddie could already feel his back start to ache from the position they were in, but he didn’t care. Not a single bit. Richie was asleep (finally) and things were peaceful. 

However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give Richie a hard time about their back pain in the morning— just to mess with him. Some things would never change. 


End file.
